


An Uncertain Shelter

by WakeUpDreaming



Series: Between BotL and TLO: Fill in Fics [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, Post Battle of the Labyrinth, Pre-The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson), Samara from The Ring, Teenage confusion, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeUpDreaming/pseuds/WakeUpDreaming
Summary: Neither of them checked the weather before going out on the water. Annabeth is displeased.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: Between BotL and TLO: Fill in Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800538
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	An Uncertain Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> For bipercabeth on tumblr, the prompt "seeking shelter." Thank you for the prompt!

“This is your fault,” Annabeth grumbles. Her arms are folded over her chest, brow furrowed beneath her sopping bangs. It’s been a while since she’s looked so annoyed at him.

“It’s – how is this my fault?!” he asks. 

She glares at him. “You’re the one who was like, ‘let’s go out on the lake’ without looking at the weather.”

“You didn’t look either,” Percy argues. “Maybe it’s your fault.”

She raises an eyebrow. Percy realizes he may have just poked the bear. “You’re the worst, Percy Jackson!”

“No, you are,” he refutes, glaring at her. 

“Am not!”

“Why are we fighting like this?!” he exclaims. He ignores the little tears poking at his eyes. “Why are we always fighting?!”

“Because – it’s…” She trails off. Percy waits, because he knows he should, because he has to. It’s that look. That veil of defiance she has, like she’s fighting how she feels.

He wishes she’d just say it. He wishes she’d kiss him again.

To be fair, though, he realizes, he could say it too. And he could kiss her.

But he doesn’t.

She starts looking around, like she’s looking for an escape. And Percy has an idea. “Come here.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Let me,” he waves his hands in what he hopes is a hugging motion, “I can keep you dry.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“Son of Poseidon,” he says. “I think I can, like, extend my waterproof-ness.”

She hesitates, then scoots toward him, leaning into him like he’s an untamed lion. She’s unsure, unsteady. Ready to jump at the earliest hint of danger.

Percy can’t put into words how much he hates that he gets the same reaction as monsters.

He brings his arms around her, and her skin is cold and damp, so unlike his. He doesn’t even notice he’s dry when it rains. Not like now. 

He’s brilliantly aware of the places where their skin touches. His hand on her arm, her arm resting on the bench against his leg. Their fingertips are almost touching, and he can even feel that. He feels like somebody’s set him on fire, or pressing him with ice. Something.

“Okay, I think it’s working,” Annabeth says. “I’m not getting any more wet.” She shivers a little bit. “Any chance you can get rid of the rest of the water?”

“Oh, let me see if I can –” But when Percy tries to move to get more of his arms around Annabeth, to try and dry her off, the canoe rocks back and forth. Startled, Annabeth tries to jump to her feet, sending the two of them in the water and the canoe upside down.

“Was that on purpose?!” he asks.

With the way she glaring at him up through a veil of very The Ring Lady-esque hair over her eyes, surrounded by something he hopes is seaweed, he regrets the question.

“Here, let me…” He takes her hand, imagining himself sending dry warmth through his arm and onto Annabeth. The way she lets out a surprised little gasp lets him know it works. 

He wills the water currents to bring the canoe and the two of them to the shore, and watches as Annabeth touches at her hair. It’s curled more neatly than he’s seen it in a long time, and it frames her face.

“Did you – did you make the water do that?” she asks, not sounding accusatory, but genuinely inquisitive.

Percy shrugs. “I don’t think so. I just tried to make it so you weren’t all Samara from The Ring.”

Annabeth blinks. “Oh.”

It’s then that Percy realizes he may have said the wrong thing.

“Well, thank you for being, like, my own personal storm shelter, or whatever,” Annabeth says. She’s a little pink, and almost looks…embarrassed? He’s not used to that from her. At least not around him. Not towards him.

“I mean, not that –”

But before he can finish his sentence, before he can tell her that her face shines in his mind as the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen every single day, that he likes her hair curly or messy or a total rats nest, that he just likes whatever is Annabeth in that moment, she runs off.

“You know,” says a voice from behind him, “telling a girl she looks like a horror movie villain?” Charlie Beckendorf comes up next to him. “Not exactly the best pickup line.”

Percy just drops his head on his knees.


End file.
